RP: Britian vs Ireland

[shh_npc]

Date: November 26th, 2005
Characters: Garvin Hurnswallow, Harriet Lillinmarder (NPC's)
Location: Quidditch World Cup - France
Summary: The British team squares off with the much feared defending Irish
Status: INcomplete

Comments

[shh_npc]

An hour into the game, and the score was tight - though the Irish looked to be having their way with the British, the latter only holding onto the respectable score by the skin of their teeth. But, it wasn't the first time they'd turned it on in the latter hald of the match, and (for the sake of his bet) it hopefully wouldn't be the last, if they could manage it again.

"And Spinnet drops the quaffle!" Garvin groaned into the microphone, digging his fingers into the palm of his hands. He watched as it slipped from her grip, only to be picked up by one of the Irish chasers. "And Seamus O'Reagan takes it! Bloody wanker, almost knocked her off her broom in the attempt. Why the refs don't see that as a penalty is beyond me..."

He shot up his arms in victory, watching as Marcus Flint angled along side O'Reagan, jostling him, and as the man went to steady himself he snatched the quaffle from his outstretched hands. "Flint gets it back. Masterful broom handling, to force a turnover like that."

He was too into the game to notice the snicker from Harriet beside him.

"And it's off to Bell, sliding through the outstretched hands of Alyssa Flanagan. She streaks towards the goal and sh...no wait, she passes it to Spinnet who's waiting behind the rings - and she fires it through." Garvin pumped his hands up in the air triumphantly, practically yelling into the microphone. "Goal!!! Take that you leprachaun."

[shh_npc]

As Garvin nearly had an apolexy, Harriet leaned forward, "You'll all remember Flint from his time with the Falmouth Falcons. Excellent chaser at the time, likely a lock for the last World Cup if it had been held. And if you don't think that in itself gave him enough of a reason to take an interest in the end of the war...."

She snickered, casting a muffling charm on her microphone momentarily, then saying. "I would lay wager he's quite excellent at broom handling Garvin. One can never take too good care of their brooms either. I bet someone like Flint has someone carefully polishing his broom for him night after night so he can stay on top of his game." She shot him a falsely sweet look, "I'm sure you remember those days, don't you Garvin? Though now you have to polish your own broom, don't you?"

She felt a leap of satisfaction when Britain scored, but didn't get jubilant, staying calm while Garvin nearly danced around the booth. "That, ladies and gentleman, is the very unbiased and completely professional Garvin Hurnswallow. The International Assocation of Quidditch would like to take this opportunity to remind you that viewpoints expressed during commentation have no direct association with them, and any jinxed owl post should be directed to said commentators themselves."

Concentrating back on the specifics of the game, she continued, "That's the third goal from Spinnet scored today. Her first came ten seconds into the game on an errant pass by O'Reagan. She continues to be the leading scorer this game, though there's still a lot of Quidditch left."

Considering her arse was starting to hurt from sitting there so long, Harriet thought that was hardly a good thing.

[shh_npc]

He might have been jubilant, but he wasn't ignorant enough to miss Harriet's innuendo. He shot her a look it was probably best the fans in the stand couldn't see. "Hardly," he remarked, continuing instead of just letting the subject drop, "though occasionally I have to resort to that, I still find others do a much better job at broom polishing than I do - so I let them take better care of that instrument than I can."

"You have good hands Harry," he remarked, only peripherally aware the microphones were still on, "you could probably get a good shine on the wood in a way I've never been able to."

But the play was continuing, and he reluctantly let himself be distracted from the furious look on her face.

"Flanagan is off with the Quaffle," he caught up on the action quickly, "and she carefully evades the bludger knocked her way by Tyler. Diving over the British chasers she's streaking towards the rings unhindered. Wood's hardly got the look of a a hippogryff caught in the fact of a lumos, but he's got no protection in front of him as Bell, the last line of defense is spun in a circle by Gillius, the Irish top beater.....but wait, he stops the shot! How the bloody hell did he manage that?!"

He gave a whoop of celebration, his voice rising as he added, "Britain's fortunes may be turning around folks."

But when Wood's pass to Flint was intercepted by O'Reagan, who promptly shot it into the upper ring just out of range of the keeper's outstretched fingers, he groaned heavily again. "Maybe not."

[shh_npc]

Though she'd started the game of innuendo, Harriet felt herself flush slightly at his very blatant remark. But she wouldn't let herself be bested by Garvin. A matter of pride if nothing else. "It's not hands that I find do the best job," she remarked in a mild tone, raising an eyebrow. Enough infusion in the words to have him and half the stadium understanding her meeting, the more innocent half in the dark thinking she meant a broom servicing kit by her comment.

"But," she added, getting even where she could, "when wood gets to a certain age, no polishing nor spells can make the broomstick function properly. I wonder if yours might not be getting to that point in time." Harriet smiled sweetly, and he was about to retort save for the increased action of play.

With the ensuing goal by Ireland, as Garvin hid head in his hands and muttered about how his heart couldn't take it, Harriet glanced at her notes. "O'Reagan's goal is a blessing for the kids of the local orphanage near his farm in Ireland. A former orphan himself, he is donating 5 galleons for every goal scored by the Irish team. The children of Mary Organswiller Orphanage outside of Dublin must be hoping for a rout of the British. With how well they've done thus far, it's fortuante he's had a solid pro career."

She knew her voice didn't sound quite as approving as it should. She still wasn't convinced it wasn't simply a publicity stunt. But orphans weren't something she would be tackling out loud.

About to extol more of the virtues of the Irish chaser, she was cut off by the fast turnaround in play, wincing as Gillius got off a solid hit with the bludger towards Katie Bell - seemingly taking pleasure in targeting the more slight British chaser. She got off the pass in time, but couldn't evade before the sphere connected with the back of her head. Garvin for his part was fascinated with the action downfield instead, not realizing what had happened.

[shh_npc]

Garvin itched to delve into territory not safe for children's ears, and though his mouth opened to speak, the goal and the ensuing drive fortunately distracted him.

Though he saw Gillius aiming for Bell, his attention was caught by the path of the quaffle rather than the bludger. "Bell manages to get the pass off to Flint, but it overshoots the mark, landing in the outstretched hands of O'Reagan! He's off and flying, but Spinnet is aiming straight for him! Let's see who blinks first!"

He almost crowed in victory. "And O'Reagan pulls up first, showing the British captain has the bigger metaphorical balls - or at least I'm hoping metaphorical. Spinnet snatches the Quaffle from his grip as he yanks up into the air, and she's....." Garvin broke off, confused, as Spinnet stopped short and yelled off to the refereee, putting her hands into a T formation, "she's calling a time out?"

It was then he noticed Katie Bell half slumped over her broom, the bit of blood on the back of her head suggesting a hard hit. The crowd had fallen silent at the stop in play, realizing the hit might be more serious than they had realized.

"The team goes to gather round Bell," he got back to himself, before offering up a wish to any deity that was out there it wasn't serious. "And the mediwitch and wizard attending the match start to come out on field, but she waves them off, forcing herself into a sitting position. How's that for durability? Bet if O'Reagan took a hit like that he'd be in the infirmary for a month."

Spinnet and Bell seemed to be getting into it on the field, the former rather obviously wanting a substitution for Bell to get patched up, but the chaser seemed to be having none of it. As the hourglass on the stadium signalling the length of the timeout began to run out, all of a sudden Katie Bell turned abruptly and flew off the field, Rufus hopping on his broom and heading on - her heading straight to the mediwitches, obviously chomping at the bit to get back in.

He wanted to chortle in amusement when he saw the satisfied look on Spinnet's face. He wondered what threat - or even what spell - she had used to get her fellow chaser off the field.

"Bell seems to be allright," he said watching as the bleeding was stopped, and painkillers administered, "doubt she'll be staying out long. But the Irish team doesn't waste any time - they're attacking right at Rufus. Hope he's been staying warm on the sidelines, there's no time for adjustment here." The trio of Irish chasers seemed to be trying a weave around him, using him as a blocker from the other Brits.

Garvin leaned forward in his seat, grabbing the microphone tightly, almost shaking it in excitement as the Quaffle changed hands. "And Rufus picks it off on an errant pass by Flanagan! Hurtling it downfield to Flint, the latter puts it through the hoops before the keeper can react. Who says the old guy doesn't still have juice left in him?" Made him wish for a moment he was flying along his former teammate, but the jubilation in the moment was enough to keep him from getting melancholy.

[shh_npc]

"The fans are no doubt worried as the injury is entirely too reminiscient of the one that knocked out their star seeker Jocelyn Ferguson from competition," Harriet remarked. "Fortunately the angle must have been a bit indirect, or Gillius's arm not quite as strong as he thinks it is - though it isn't a hard mark to fall short of. But Bell is no stranger to pain, having survived much more serious injuries off the pitch during the war. She'll be fine once the bleeding stops, though she might be sleeping on her side for a bit."

As Rufus made the long pass, she smirked, "I'd call that beginner's luck, but he's been around the block a few too many times for that to hold water. Let's call it old timer's luck then, yeah?"

She felt her heart jump when the keeper had to dodge a bludger from Tyler, causing the pass he had been about to throw to find Alicia Spinnet, who put it through the hoops again. The swell of the crowd beginning to truly get into the game was a hard thing to miss. Normally she cast muffling charms around a booth while she was working, but today she was glad she hadn't. It almost made her feel a part of things when the crowd became the 8th man, louder than anything at the British team's successes.